“What?” Cait said again, completely agog. “That’s ridiculous!”
Ewan blinked, “It is?”
“Yes!” Cait said, cradling the baby a little closer, “I love children!”
“You do?” Cait couldn’t understand the look of shock on her husband’s face. She knew that he didn’t like children-but surely he didn’t expect that was true of everyone? She cradled the baby closer.
“How could I help it?” she said in a quiet voice. Ewan tilted his head, watching as his wife bent over the tiny creature in her arms. Finally assured of being held, his little namesake drifted back to sleep, his little mouth hanging open and releasing soft, sighing breaths. Cait was watching him with an expression of wonder on her face. “Isn’t he perfect?” she asked.
Ewan felt a knife twist in his heart when he realized that she wasn’t kidding. There was no way that she could ever feign the love in her eyes. It was a much different expression of the emotion than reigned when she looked at him: warm instead of burning-but very real. Cait did love the baby. Cait did want children of her own. It was like seeing something familiar under slanting light-everything he thought he knew was cast in strange shadows and colors. “But…” Ewan’s mouth puffed independently of his brain, “But…you don’t want children of your own!”
Cait’s brow furrowed, “You don’t believe that!” she said, and then fell silent, reminding herself that it didn’t matter what she wanted-Ewan didn’t want children-didn’t want the baby that they already had.
“But…” Ewan sputtered on, “Why did you never get married then, before….” He stopped speaking and looked uncomfortable.
“Before I grew into a tired old spinster?” Cait said, an edge in her voice. “Who would have me?” she spat.
Ewan sighed heavily at her sudden anger, and then dropped an appeasing kiss against her cheek, “Me,” he whispered, unable to stop himself, even though he was only making things worse in the end, “I would have you…” If I could… he added in his mind.
But he couldn’t. Ewan tried to remind himself to be firm, despite the fact that his heart was taunting him with images of the family he would never have-the life that he so desperately wanted to give his wife…but surely, she didn’t have to be his wife to have his baby? He consoled himself with thoughts of the little cottage across the river. Maybe someday, after some more suitable woman had provided him with an heir, he could give Cait a little baby of her own?
Shaking his head to clear the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind, Ewan reached down for the baby again. “He looks like my sister,” he remarked with obvious relish, privately thinking that his newest nephew had done better than his brothers, who both favored their MacRae lineage.
“He looks like you,” Cait corrected, already able to pick out her husband’s strong chin and expressive eyes in the little baby’s face. It would be almost heartbreakingly easy to imagine that he actually was Ewan’s child…that this was their baby that her husband was petting so reverently.
“Aye, he does a bit,” Ewan acknowledged with a proud but self-conscious blush. “The lad’s a Cameron through and through.”
“You really seem to like him…” Cait began tentatively, wondering if now was the time to break her own news.
“Aye,” Ewan answered again, staring down at the baby and looking lost in thought.
“You’ll want a baby of your own some day?” Cait said, quieter still. Her entire body was tensed to the point of breaking as she waited for his answer-prepared to let it determine, one way or the other-what she would say next.
Only, Ewan’s answer never came.
“Master Cameron!”
Cait and Ewan both sat bolt upright when a strange voice echoed through the house. They heard a clatter in the kitchen, and then the cook bustling toward the front door which had been thrown open without so much as a knock.
Ewan reached automatically for his dirk.
“Ewan?” Cait said anxiously, when the hail for her husband was repeated. She stood up from the bed. The sudden motion woke the baby, who promptly awoke started squalling again.
Ewan motioned for his wife to stay where she was, and opened the door. He clutched the handle of the dirk as he stepped into the passage way. From her position behind him, clutching the screaming baby, Cait could only half-see his face. Her pulse pounded when she saw a look of shock pass over his face. “Gerald?” he gasped, and promptly lowered his weapon.
Cait took this as a sign of safety, and rushed forward. Standing just behind her husband’s shoulder, she could see a boy that she recognized from the stables back at home-only he looked as though he’d been dragged behind a horse. His face was swollen, two of his teeth were missing, and blood was drying on his hair. He looked exhausted. Nevertheless, excitement or fear had given him the frantic energy to clutch at Ewan’s hand.
“Master Cameron, you’ve got to come back!” the boy panted. “I came as fast as I could. I rode all night.”
“Rode from where?” Ewan asked sharply, even as Cait snapped her fingers at the cook-silently ordering blankets and refreshments to be brought. The boy slumped to his knees, looking as if his legs weren’t able to hold him anymore as he finally answered:
“From the castle, sir.”
Ewan stiffened again, “Eilean Donan?”
“No, sir,” Gerald whimpered. “From Castle Cameron.”
“Castle Cameron?” Ewan repeated in disbelief.
“Aye, sir-the castle’s under attack!”
Ewan’s heart had already been pounding in his chest. Now it was positively thundering. “Castle Cameron?” he breathed in disbelief. “Under attack? By who?” the MacRaes were, frankly, the only clan that he could reckon brave enough to attempt it, and they had been so nearly licked by the British that he didn’t see how they could ever mount even a skirmish, much less a full-on siege.
“Aye, sir. Your brother sent me. He sent a messenger to Eilean Donan too, but I don’t know if he’s got through. Even if he has…” the boy’s voice trailed off, leaving unspoken the number of MacRae dead they had both seen in the months before. “He said you could raise the Eastmarch and the Frasures and bring them straight away. The castle will hold for a week or two, but not much longer. There wasn’t any time to get ready. They were on us one night-a few broke through the wall before we stopped them.”
Ewan nodded his head, but his mind was no longer focused on the boy’s words. It had already leapt forward, trying to plot the most efficient route for gathering the men he would need to lead back to the castle. It would take nearly a week to get them all-and they might not have that much time! It would be better to get the few in the immediate vicinity and send another messenger-perhaps poor Gerald or the groom-to the Frasures and the further lands.
Cait simply stood back and watched as Ewan whizzed about the room. All of the softness and humor of the man she loved was gone as he reverted into his other half: the dedicated, calculating war chief. “My horse!” he barked, and the cook instantly scurried out into the rain to fetch the groom. He dismissed Gerard to the care of the housekeeper, and finally turned to Cait.
“You have to go,” she said for him.
Ewan closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Aye.”
“I wanted to tell you…” she started, feeling urgent to blurt the words straight away-only Ewan laid a finger across her lips.
“No confessions,” he half teased and half-begged. “It makes me think you don’t think I’m coming home.”
Cait shivered in premonition at the words, wanting to deny them, but forced to admit that was partly the truth, “But-!”
“No buts!” he insisted, and then bent to give her a kiss, “Thank GOD you’re still here,” he said, thinking aloud, and then he snapped out of his daze and reached for his sword. Long years as a soldier had taught him to prepare in minutes. Before Cait had even registered what was happening, he was accepting a parcel of food from the cook and heading toward the door. “I’ll be back, Beauty,” he
promised, bending to give her a proper kiss before he left.
She barely felt it. She was too dazed by how quickly everything had spun out of control. “But…” she started again, but again Ewan shook his head.
“Give me something to come home to?” he suggested, and then kissed her again. This time, he lingered-barely able to let her go, but finally did. “I WILL be back,” he swore again. Then, with a final smile goodbye, he was gone.
Muira returned earlier than had been expected. Obviously, news travelled quickly. Cait was still upstairs in her room, staring out the window in shock when her sister-in-law returned to the house, soaked to the skin, but bustling with energy, “Cait!” she called up the stairs, “Cait! Have you heard the news? Has Ewan gone yet?”
Cait turned when Muira reached her door. She blinked several times, as if trying, but failing, to awaken herself from a dream, “Yes, I’ve heard,” she finally said, “and your brother is gone. He left as soon as the messenger came.”
Muira nodded gravely. “I thought that he would. They’re saying in the village that Castle Cameron is under attack-surely it can’t be true?” she asked, but Cait thought she could detect a tiny amount of guilty hope in the remark at the notion that, for once, her own husband (at home in the MacRae fortress) might be spared the worst of the fighting.
Cait nodded vigorously, blinking to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over when she thought about how Ewan had slipped from her grasp. “Aye, it’s true enough.” She sniffed and then swallowed hard, unable to contain her tears, “I wish…I just wish he hadn’t had to leave that way. One minute he was holding me…the next…” the rest was lost in a choking sob.
Muira frowned for a moment, and then she clamped her hand over her mouth.”Oh, God,” she breathed, “He finally told you. Oh, Cait! I’m so terribly sorry! It isn’t what he wanted to do. You have to know that!”
Cait sniffled and nodded.
“It isn’t what he wanted to do at all, Cait. You know he’d stay with you if he could. He hasn’t said so, but I’m sure that he loves you.”
Cait felt a little flutter of warmth at the comment, and finally raised her head to meet Muira’s eyes. She was puzzled and disconcerted by the clear concern that she saw there. Was the battle going to be worse than she imagined? Did Muira know something that she didn’t?
“I can’t imagine how angry you are,” Muira said, seeming to argue for the latter position.
“Angry?”
“It simply isn’t fair. I think Ewan’s just horrible for caving to pressure, even if it is from our uncle. He loves you! He’s just got a terribly skewed sense of duty…Oh, Cait! It isn’t fair!”
“It isn’t,” Cait agreed, although she was no longer sure that they were talking about the same thing.
“It makes me sick to think that he’ll simply jump at Uncle’s commands!”
“But…” Cait disagreed gently, “Surely it’s understandable with the castle under attack?”
“Did they know that the castle was going to be under attack when they planned it?” Muira asked hotly, her anger confusing Cait even more. “Isn’t it convenient that he can simply ride away? I swear! Sometimes the brothers of mine make me sick. I think it’s barbaric-for Ewan to simply decide that he can throw your marriage away.”
“Throw it away?” Cait repeated in a tiny, hollow voice, prickles of danger crackling over her skin.
Muira reached for Cait’s hands and squeezed them gently. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you alone. That was never the plan. He brought me here because it might have helped. Oh, Cait. You have to believe that he doesn’t want this,” Muira said tenderly, “But you also have to know that it’s for the best-even if it doesn’t feel like that now.”
“What’s for the best?” Cait asked, feeling as if she were floundering in confusion.
Muira frowned, “Cait-don’t worry. I already know. We talked about it before I came.”
“About what?”
“About what Ewan said to you, of course,” Muira responded, “I told him that he should have told you straight away, but he kept dragging his feat. Something like this was bound to happen.”
“Something like what?” Cait demanded, growing agitated with the fact that she was clearly missing a part of the conversation, “What is it that Ewan was meant to have done?”
“Why, breaking things off with you, of course,” Muira said flatly, but her eyes widened considerably when Cait only looked dazed. Muira covered her mouth again, “Oh, God…he didn’t…he never…Oh, God-Cait! I thought he’d told you ages ago. Don’t tell me that my brother was that evil, that he’s been…Oh, God!”
“What are you saying, Muira?” Cait asked, her voice utterly hollow and cold. She didn’t even feel the words leaving her mouth. Her entire body had gone numb.
Muira took a deep breath, “I mean…” she said quietly, “That Ewan came here for a reason. He was under orders by our uncle…,” she said, bluntly but kindly. “Your marriage is through. Uncle wants him to marry someone else.”
Cait felt as though she were inside a wagon that had suddenly thrown a wheel, or if she had stepped into an unexpected hole. Shock and pain lanced through her body, knocking her off her footing.
Muira reached forward to Caitch her at the last possible moment, nearly causing herself to tumble over. “Cait?” she said anxiously, “Cait? I’m sorry-He told me and…well, I thought you’d want someone here. I know it’s awful, but I’m certain that he still loves you. It is just going to take a little time.”
“Who?”
Cait wasn’t sure where the word came from, and she couldn’t begin to guess why her mind was so willing to torture her heart with the question, but it became suddenly imperative to know who was meant to replace her at Ewan’s side…in his bed…
Muira blinked, “I…er…thought…that is…” she sputtered, “Didn’t he tell you?” she asked.
Cait shook her head numbly-and then horrified realization began to break across Muira’s face.
“He never….he never told you anything?” She clapped a hand across her mouth. “Oh, God!” she breathed, not even caring about the blasphemy. “Oh, Cait! I’m so sorry!”
“He tried to tell me!” Cait wailed, experiencing her own epiphany as she thought back to the week that she had just spent with her husband-how awkward things had been, how he never wanted to talk about a future-how careful he had been not to risk making her pregnant. She felt her body growing cold as the memories of the passion they had shared froze and shattered.
“Cait!” Muira looked anxiously from side to side-as if she would give anything to take back what she had blurted, “Maybe…maybe there was a mistake.”
“Was there?” Cait shot back, causing Muira to cower. The redhead bit her lip, and then shook her head sheepishly. “Uncle made him promise,” she said quietly. “He didn’t want to do it….Cait-it was the only way! The Camerons need him!”
“And what about me?” Cait spat back, tears welling up in her eyes. She knew that it was selfish. Who was she to take precedence over an entire clan? She was no one: just a servant, a disposable vessel whose only purpose had ever been to bear his child-until he decided that he didn’t even want her for that anymore-but she couldn’t help the way that she felt.
Muira floundered for a moment, but finally stated flatly: “Ewan loves you. I know he does.”
Cait’s lip quivered as she shook her head, “But not enough,” she whispered in a tiny voice. She didn’t even notice as one of her hands drifted to her stomach, cradling it protectively as she wondered what this would mean for their child. Almost as if Muira could read her mind, she spoke:
“It isn’t you, Cait,” she said sadly, “It’s that you’re English…Cait…Ewan didn’t want you to know-but it’s your father that’s leading them into the clan lands…He can’t have you as his wife and be Laird-and we need him now.”
“The Camerons need him now,” Cait corrected waspishly. “You seem to be doing quiet we
ll as a wife that the MacRaes would never accept.”
“You know it isn’t the same,” Muira countered, looking simultaneously annoyed and sympathetic. “Oh, Cait, I wish that it was any other way.”
Cait hefted her chin defiantly, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Not as much as me!”
Muira reached for her friend, but Cait evaded the touch. “Leave me alone!” she shrieked, dimly aware that she was behaving foolishly, but utterly unable to care. Muira watched helplessly as he sister-in-law stumbled up the stairs and out of view.
Once safely inside her room, Cait collapsed onto the bed and started crying in earnest. Face down on the mattress that was still scented like her husband’s skin, the tears fell harder and faster until she was barely able to breathe. Surely nothing had ever hurt so much? It was one thing to be unwanted, but discarded was so much worse! Muira said that Ewan had promised the Laird that he was going to let her go. That meant that he had sealed his intentions even before he returned.
Everything that he had told her was a lie. Every kiss, every touch, every moment inside her body was a game that he had cruelly played, knowing that he held every card.
What was she going to do next?
Somehow, the question struggled up through the pain. Cait tried to focus on it-to pay attention to the practicalities in a desperate attempt to maintain her sanity. If Ewan needed to father an heir with another woman, he certainly couldn’t have a baby with Cait. Would he demand that she get rid of the child? Cait shivered, knowing instantly that this request, if given, was one that she could never grant. The more tenuous her grasp on Ewan became, the more that she clung to the idea of their child-to the hope that something, ever how small and tarnished-would live on of the dream she had briefly held.
They would have to go away. Cait turned the notion over in her mind. She was lucky, she supposed, to have travelled a bit before. Through necessity, her mother had taught her the tricks of charming lodging out of a wary landlord, and winning passage on a ship. She couldn’t risk taking the road west back to Cameron lands. She would have to cross the river, into Frasure territory, and then make it down to the lowlands. She could catch a ship in Edinburgh.
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